


A Lotus in Bloom

by Crucified_To_A_Star



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV, 威神V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ancient China, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Demon Deals, Demons, Falling In Love, Ill add more tags as I think of them, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Past Lives, Past TaeTen, Romantic Soulmates, Slight Xianxia theme, Soul Selling, Ten is a mogwai, kind of a threesome?, this is a demon fucker fic so just expect it to be a little dark, this isnt necessarily a healthy relationship but theyre in love so, tw brief depiction of suicide, tw murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crucified_To_A_Star/pseuds/Crucified_To_A_Star
Summary: Ten is the Mogwai that bought Kun's soul; set to protect and elevate him until the contract's time runs out, by any means necessary.Kun finds that he doesn't mind.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 22
Kudos: 90
Collections: In Every Lifetime: A KunTen Fan Week





	A Lotus in Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This was kind of a darker fic to write, but I absolutely fell in love with it! I loved writing it and I hope you love reading it :) 
> 
> I want to preface this by saying that this isn't necessarily a ~healthy~ relationship and this in no way represents the irl Kun and Ten we know, but it was a fun exploration of a darker side of the ship and I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!!

_The red, red rose_

For as long as Kun could remember, _he_ was there. He loomed in the shadows and recesses of his home, often watching without his presence being announced. He had been there, haunting the dark recesses, for every memory Kun had. His figure was short, broad and muscular, cloaked in shadows and blood with eyes of shilling gold. He never spoke, never breathed, never moved. Kun was almost convinced he was a creation of his mind, nearing madness as he grew into adulthood. No one else ever noticed the looming creature in the empty corners. No one ever noticed the smell of sage and wine. No one ever questioned the uninvited presence that always lingering near. 

It wasn’t until Kun was older, much older, that he had been emboldened in his actions, sitting at his desk one day. He was sketching an eye, one shaped like a cat’s with the flicker of fire in the iris, when the lingering eyes traced his form once again and he felt the seams of his mouth snap. “Who are you? You have been following me since time started.”

His head snapped to the corner of his room, the plain mahogany and green velvet room, the one he had called home for no longer than a year cycle. The talisman of health, protection, and good fortune etched in gold surrounding his door matched the same shade as the eyes that glowed in the single dark spot of the room. For a moment, he wondered if he had always been right- his mind playing a game so twisted as this, making him presume the company that had never existed. The thought hung heavy and began to settle, just as a noise came from the shadow. It was somewhere between a purr and a growl and the hair on his body rose to attention. From the dark, stepped a man- or what looked like a man. Short and broad as the shadow had been, though his skin was frosted gold with hair a crimson shade and features carved in the finest stone- strong and beautiful and priceless. He wore a black suit, one unfitting of the time, one that felt out of touch for the world they lived in- Kun had never seen such an outfit, never seen the tailored black slacks and blazer, nor the tie he wore or the cufflinks that blinked gold in the light. Kun wasn’t sure where this man came from, but nothing about him spoke of their shared world. “You can call me _Ten_.”

“Ten?” Kun asked, ignoring the slick slide of his voice and the way it covered the room in silk and incense. “What kind of name is that for a man?” 

“It is not a name for a man, Qian Kun.” Ten corrected, taking another step towards Kun. Kun realized belatedly that the corner he had resided in was no longer blackened, but the shadow around his feet was polar to the one the sun cast from the opened window. Kun came to understand in that moment that this man not only held darkness in his body but he _emanated_ it. “It is for a lucky chance that I was gifted that name on the day of my rebirthing.”

“What do you speak of?” Kun asked, his hands growing clammy as he rubbed them against his casual robes. “You are speaking complete and utter nonsensical riddles. I demand of you your identity.” 

Ten’s smile was brilliant; pearly and bright in the darkness that shrouded him. It wasn’t evil or disheartening or terrifying, though maybe that was why Kun felt so unnerved. “I am a Mogwai.”

“A Mogwai?” Kun choked, standing finally, falling backwards onto his desk. He paid no attention to the ink that spilled from his calligraphy pot, no attention to the ruined poetry written on parchment. He scooted back until his spine hit the window frame and even then he felt his body shrinking into itself. “You are a demon of death.”

Ten waved his hand gently, elegantly. He wasn’t anything to what Kun had thought of a Mogwai to be. He had been told that Mogwai were hunched, ugly creatures, with bleeding, empty eyes and teeth as long as tusks. They bred during the raining seasons to steal the fortune and wealth from their mates, eating the soul when all was accomplished. Why a Mogwai had haunted him from birth, Kun had not a single clue. “Not quite,” Ten corrected, “A demon, yes, but not always of death. What do you know of Mogwai’s, my dear Kun?” 

Ten moved to his bed, seating himself on the low platformed mattress, crossing his legs elegantly, fingers wrapping themselves across his knee. “I know you reap souls when the rain comes, you take their fortunes and their wealth and you take their souls to continue your immortality.”

Ten shrugged, his shoulders barely moving from the movement. “Close. Mogwai are not demons of death. We take souls, yes, but it’s not always entirely evil. Sometimes we guide them. Sometimes we protect them. Of course, the payment at the end of it all is that we get to keep your soul after it’s ready to pass, but nonetheless it’s protected.” 

Kun swallowed heavily, his body wound tighter than the bow he shot in the courtyard that morning. “Is that why you are here?” 

Ten nodded slowly, one hand moving to his chin, where he delicately tapped the flawless skin with his fine tipped black nails, “Perceptive. I expected nothing less of you, Kun. You always have been the smartest of your peers. Intelligent, mature, patient. You had all the traits that your parents had prayed for and more.” 

Kun swallowed heavily, the pebbles in his throat blocking his ability to breathe properly. “You will take my soul someday?” Ten nodded silently. “Who assigned you to me?” 

“Kun, I thought we established your intelligence moments ago.” Ten seemed slightly disappointed, though his head cocked gently as Kun nodded. “You were granted faultless protection until the day you die after three and a half decades, so you may one day reach the tiers of influence your parents had begged for. You and I will accomplish a great many things together, Kun. A great many things.” 

_The lotus of rebirth, enlightenment, and spiritualism_

The news had settled oddly comfortably with Kun after that. He no longer feared the dark corners, but rather turned to them for comfort and support. The understanding that he was no longer alone was enough to settle the nerves in his stomach. As years passed, Kun turned from boy to youth to man and Ten had watched throughout the entirety of the journey. Kun was unsure when they had become close, when they had stopped with formalities and the conversations felt less like business and more like leisure. Kun was unsure of the first time he felt the icy fire of Ten’s skin, when the first time he tasted the wine stained lips, and when he had discovered the gardens of lotus, lilies, and roses tattooed across Ten’s spine. 

Kun admired those tattoos regularly, laid next to Ten stroking the patterns across the muscles of his back. He had never seen something as beautiful, something as intricate, something as elegantly and flawlessly placed on someone as those tattoos. They moved with his body naturally, they breathed with him, but they held an energy all on their own. Ten’s eyes would glow green when his fingers brushed them. He said it was because of the spiritual connection they held- some of Ten’s tattoos were ones gifted to him when he had been reborn as a Mogwai, some were keepsakes of specific souls he could not bear to let go entirely, and Ten always insisted that Kun would one day become a tattoo as well. 

“What flower will I be?” Kun asked, stroking the stem of the rose that ran along the curve of his ribs. “What will I be and where will I remain? Where will I live for eternity?” 

Ten purred under the strokes, adjusting slightly, turning to his side. His naked body had once been alarming to Kun, though that had been when he lived in a bungalow with cotton sheets and too little furniture. Nowadays he lived in a near palace with silk sheets and an excess of rooms. This place smelled consistently of incense, of sage and of fine wine that he had tasted for years. Ten’s body no longer alarmed him. 

“Here,” Ten gestured, pulling a single hand from under the pillow, running his fingers delicately over his pec, “You will reside over my heart as a beautiful blood chrysanthemum. You will hold my love, my longevity, my eternity.”

Kun laughed slightly, adjusting his hand as his palm had begun to hurt from the pressure of him leaning on it. He switched hands, tapping Ten’s shoulder now. “Now how many souls have you said that to, while the spot remains empty?” 

“None.” Ten’s voice was serious, hard and even, one he only ever used when he was telling the truth. Kun had learned long ago that Mogwai were unable to lie to their binders when asked a direct question. Kun’s throat tightened as Ten sat up, the sheets barely staying on his waist. Kun’s eyes ate at the skin of his waist and hips, the bruises that buried themselves in the flawless pallor. He stared at the marks that he had left, the temporary claims, stared at the marks that would fade as he imagined one that wouldn’t. “You are the first. You are the only.”

Perhaps their company turned from just physical admiration into something deeper, something that stung when Kun had to leave the safety of the black sheets and glittering gold eyes. Perhaps they’d fallen into what Kun had read about in poems and literature, what he had been sat down for years in a classroom studying. Perhaps they had fallen in love. Kun wouldn’t say it outloud and Ten had made off-handed, unprovoked comments on the futility of love and how basic of an emotion it was. Kun wasn’t sure what he had meant when he had first made the comment but he knew now.

Love wasn’t a deep enough expression for the emotions he felt around the Mogwai. There was a deep ache that was constant, it filled his bones and rattled in his hollow chest, and sometimes Kun felt like his heart was no longer a heart, but a bird trapped in the cage of his ribs. His skin burned where Ten touched and ice clung to him when they parted. He craved the salt and bitterness of the foreign body, along with the never-ending taste of wine that he got drunk on daily. It didn’t feel like love, it felt like an addiction. An obsession. A fever dream he was unable to break. 

Ten had been right, love _was_ too simple a word. 

Another thing that had come along with the deep-rooted and passionate emotions was the intense jealousy that ate away at Kun’s cuticles and Ten’s patience. Kun knew in order to move up another rank he must have a wife. If he ever wanted to obtain the rank Viscount he needed to provide the impression of having future children. 

Bound by soul and contract, Ten found him a suitable wife to continue their progress. 

His passion for Kun was strong, but his duty to the Qian-line was stronger. 

Kun was married the spring after his first sighting of Ten’s tattoos, during the raining season. Kun had married Zhang Ju during the day, though that night he had taken Ten to bed, retracing Ten’s body to memory as his wife lay in the room across the house. Kun was married to her only in title, his soul belonging to Ten.

Years to Ten passed in the blink of an eye, eternity dwarfing lifetimes, though for Kun a year felt like a year and a year with Zhang Ju was enough for him to know that marriage with her would not last. Divorce was never an option, but Ten was as uncomfortable with her as he was with the changshan and hanfu that Kun wore daily. Kun never found out where Ten’s _suits_ came from, only that Ten had them custom-made for him and him alone. Kun once kinned it to a zhongshan, though Ten had clicked his tongue with no true response. 

Ten never liked Zhang Ju, not really. The jealousy had been something he was unable to shake, even as time drew on. Zhang Ju was a nice woman, who tended to the flowers in the garden and sang songs to the koi from the water pavilion’s resting benches, though she never seemed as comfortable with Kun as she was the storks. 

Kun didn’t mind; he didn’t love her anyways.

Kun wasn’t sure if he could have ever loved her, even without Ten’s presence in his bed. She was lovely, Kun was certain, but she lacked the sharp blade that Kun liked. She was soft, mellow, as sweet as the flowers she tended. He wasn’t sure that in any lifetime he would have been able to love her. 

And he almost felt bad about that. 

Ten was Ten, though, the Mogwai with an intelligent golden gaze, one that read every movement and breath for the truth they hid. He was sharp and his tongue always sliced through Kun’s flesh like it was nothing more than fresh milk. 

Ten had cornered him one day as he soaked in a bathtub of rose petals and jasmine, the water milky and warm in the deep basin. Kun watched the Mogwai pace around the room, shedding his shadow as he did so. The door to the washroom was secured, Zhang Ju undoubtedly in the garden at this time. They were alone and secure, though Kun wondered if Ten ever was bothered by the idea of another walking in on them. Kun was certain he had back-up plans stored in the recesses of his mind. Ten was sworn to protect Kun, to make him thrive, regardless of situation. Kun knew Ten would not fail at that. He wondered how far he could push that binding, wondered exactly how far Ten would go for him. 

“Zhang Ju,” Ten spoke carefully, pacing around the tub. From Kun’s level in the basin embedded in the floor, he had to look up to meet Ten’s eyes, his head falling at knee level. Ten wore a less formal suit today, one that was a near-black red color that matched his hair almost perfectly, with a relaxed fit and the buttons undone to reveal the black shirt underneath. He looked devilish, Kun thought, handsome and devilish. Kun hummed when Ten did not continue, admiring the other man's legs. “I do not like her.” 

“Always honest and point,” Kun said and rubbed his chin, “Pray, what shall I do to solve that, my dearest shadow?” 

Ten paused in his pacing and Kun’s eyes trailed up the curve of his thighs. “Kill her.” 

Kun’s eyes shot upwards, meeting Ten’s now. “What?”

“I spoke clearly, Kun.” Ten snapped, facing him fully now, arms crossing across the broadness of his chest. “Kill her. I will make it look as if it was an accident, an easy show for authorities. You will be suffering from the passing of your beloved wife, deep in grief, though still dedicating your time towards the country. You will be seen as strong and dependable and loyal and it will be impossible for them to resist allowing a promotion when you request. When you reach your hòu rank, we can work on building your fortune and reputation, settling on the rank your parents begged me for. Your parents wish is coming true, Kun. The Qian name has been restored, with all gratitude to you, and when you finish this aggrandizement you will be the jewel of your ancestors.” 

Kun sighed, his shoulders dipping into the water, “With appreciation and debt to you, Ten.”

Ten’s smile reflected the sunlight from the paper covered windows like a jian on display. Kun’s tongue dipped from his mouth, tracing his bottom lip, the phantom taste of deep red wine sending shivers through his body. “The only debt I am owed is one I will collect on in due time.”

“That is a debt my parents have formed.” Kun breathed deeply, sitting up again. “Join me. Allow _me_ to thank you.” Ten’s gaze was dangerous, one that spoke of blood and death, but Kun no longer found himself wondering if he was making decisions that he should regret. Kun no longer worried about the thoughts of others, especially not as Ten revealed the skin on his body, the tattoos that told stories dancing against his defined and sharp muscles. Kun no longer worried about regret, digging himself into warm flesh, marring the flawless expanses of skin with bites and bruises. He no longer questioned his decisions, questioned his fate, while he held soft hips and tasted wine flavored lips that sang praises to him. He no longer worried about anything except for Ten. He had come to the conclusion that there was no sense in worrying, no sense in fretting, because Ten would always keep his future steady. 

So Kun worried not about the water that spilled from the tub. He gave no concern to their noise, to the bruises that would form on his back from the porcelain back nor to the ones Ten would have from the stone lip. He worried nothing for the morality of his actions nor what the Gods and his ancestors thought of his actions. Ten had many lotus tattoos, ones that Kun had kissed and bit and marked before- Kun considered that to be spiritual enough. 

Dinners were usual events for Kun and Zhang Ju. In banquet halls they mingled, arms linked with long sleeves of gold and green. The bodies of the crowd wore deep and rich shades of elegant greens, dignified purples, refined blues, and regal reds. Every guest was adorned in long silks and jewelry, patterns signifying rank and status, talisman and tassels hanging from silk belts. They glittered under the light of the sun as they moved like fireflies in the night and Kun almost was impressed by the turn out in the evening hall at the Lion’s Den Palace.

Almost.

Ten lingered in the far corner, the darkness smoldering up from him like coils of black smoke. Kun had only ever seen smoke like that from fires, but he reckoned Ten was akin to a fire that wiped out villages ruthlessly. Kun knew if he asked, Ten would burn down the palace they stood in. Kun could almost assume he would do it without being asked, just to watch the people flee. Kun almost asked. 

Almost.

Instead, he held Zhang Ju’s arm as gently as he would a flower, too softly to even feel the warmth of her skin beneath the heavy fabric. Kun never held her firmly feeling more like he was holding a stranger than the wife he supposedly shared a bed with. Kun would never hold her flesh with the fever he held Ten’s, never feel the scorching temperatures of her body as he had with Ten. Kun almost felt bad about it.

Almost.

Kun’s eyes met Ten’s over the crowd, staring at the Mogwai who had perched himself on a decorative shelf half up the banquet hall’s wall next to an ancient vase as big as his body. His foot was rested against it and Kun could feel the glaring gazes of the House’s ancestors, could feel the scorn at the demon’s disrespect. Ten was composed and relaxed and if Kun had not known him better, he would have guessed the Mogwai could not feel the burning curses. Though, Kun knew Ten better and the smirk that lilted his lips was a vestige of the preening he did under the wrath of ancient people. Ten had no respect for the dead.

Kun’s gaze was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the tallest man in the room. Wong Yukhei stood taller than even Kun, though his face was so young looking with large black eyes and a smile that out-shined the stars. Yukhei was tall and broad with skin brushed by the sun and a personality that made every person gravitate towards him like a beacon. His much shorter, much more classically handsome and benevolently wreckless cousin, Wong Kunhang, stood by his elbow. Yukhei was doused from head to toe in the sharpest shade of a gold and black Kun had seen in the room, his longpao tighter than most others, the layers thinner and accentuating his incredible height. Kunhang wore a more modest fit with soft petal blue designs outlined in deep purple. They looked every part of royalty, except for the lingering shadows behind them. 

Ten had told Kun before the banquet when they were walking up the thousand stairs to the hall, to look behind the young men, to focus on their shadows. It had taken Kun a moment for his eyes to focus and his mind to accept that he was seeing what he should not be seeing. There, tailing the cousins, were two of their own Mogwai. Ten had said he was unsure if the cousins knew of each other’s pets, but they both certainly had them. 

Kun figured everyone had their tricks to the top.

Some used their wealth, some used their bodies, and others used their soul. 

“Qian Kun,” Yukhei’s smile was bold and bright as the gold he wore, his hand clasped bow traditional and steady, Kunhang’s following.

Kun repeated the gesture, “Wong Yukhei, Wong Kunhang. Seeing you is a pleasure.” His eyes didn’t linger on the strawberry blonde and agile Mogwai tailing Yukhei and if he noticed the blonde lithe Mogwai behind Kunhang, there was no twitch for him to give it away. Ten had beaten his steady face into him, nothing breaking his stoned expression besides the Mogwai who had given him the mask. 

“Where is your madame?” Yukhei asked politely, his smile genuine. Kun could understand how this man would be a favorite amongst the people. 

“She left with her sister and friends a while ago. She does not favor crowded spaces and the offer of tea and quiet company was far more appealing.” Kun explained with his hands behind his back and a forced bit of emotion. He honestly had only barely kept a word of her farewell in his mind, knowing and remembering only the smallest of details, his eyes continually moving back to the shadow on the wall. 

“A shame, I would have loved to meet her.” Kunhang responded equally as polite as Yukhei had been. Good men, Kun thought. 

“Perhaps next time.”

They talked business momentarily, placid jokes and wicked porcelain smiles being traded, until Kunhang glanced behind himself to the Mogwai hovering. Kun’s eyes didn’t leave Yukhei’s, though all his attention was on the smaller man. It was a long moment before Kunhang’s head turned back around, the ornate gold bundles in his hair glittering in the light as he did so. “So, he’s yours.” 

Kun’s eyebrow twitched, Yukhei stopping in the middle of a word. “Who?” 

“The Mogwai watching us like dinner.” Kunhang’s smile didn’t portray the words he spoke, the lightness of his expression looking as casual as prior, as if discussing the weather or wine. 

Yukhei nodded, thumb rubbing his chin suddenly, “I had suspicions that he was yours.” 

Kun tucked his hands into his sleeves, bundling them behind his back and posturing obviously, “It’s been my pleasure though I’m afraid I need to continue with my visits as I’m leaving soon.”

Yukhei smirked, while Kunhang bowed. Yukhei took a second before imitating. “Thank you for your time, Qian Kun.”

Kun’s bow was tight and quick, disappearing into the crowd quickly. 

When they left, Ten was hovering by his elbow, closer than usual. Kun’s eyes had met Yukhei and Kunhang’s just once more as they had exited the pavilion, the Mogwai’s attention on the demon clinging to Kun. Ten didn’t like to make friends with his kind, he had expressed that long ago. Ten didn’t really like to make friends, generally, rather sticking to annoying Kun in his spare time. Kun didn’t mind.

The sunset was purple and vibrant pink, reflecting off of the streams of waterfalls that lined the jagged rocks on either side of the grand staircase. Their shoes were soundless as they walked down- Kun was unsure if Ten even made noise. When he glanced to the Mogwai, he found the other already looking at him. His dark, cat shaped eyes glowed nearly purple in the light, fine and sharp features outlined in the sunset like he was painted into the moment. 

Ten looked lovely tonight, as he did every other night.

“It is still the raining season,” Kun stated, eyes tearing from the demon to look outwards towards the mountains. There, dark clouds gather on the peaks signalling a storm would be coming tonight.

“It is.” Ten said, voice airy and warm like the wine Kun had drank that night. Kun had been craving wine all night, though nothing he drank was satiating him. There was only one that ever could and he was certain to drink until drunk with the rain thundering tonight.

Kun had been right, the rain pouring over his home’s awnings and filling the ponds to the brim. The house was alive with the sound of rain shattering the silence and Ten’s breathy gasps as Kun’s mouth moved over his body. His tongue traced the tattoos of flowers, drinking their nectar and tasting the sweat from the body under him. Ten wiggled when his tongue traced the skin below his belly button, his clothes having been removed long ago. Kun still wore his under clothing- the thin black cotton pants and gi half off of his shoulder- though he was certain the clothing would be gone momentarily. 

His hands guided themselves over taught muscle he had memorized through the years, feeling every notch of every rib and every dip, curve, and bone. He felt it all, branded it into his mind, so that even if he became blind he would be able to carve Ten from marble and gems. Kun was unsure of what Gods existed, but Ten felt like every deity in one. Kun had never met the Gods, never been gifted by them, never been acknowledged by them- but he had been graced by Ten. If Heaven was real, Ten’s body was it, Kun knew. Kun would find eternal peace only if he was buried with his hips pressed against Ten’s until eternity ended. 

He couldn’t say when eternity began or when it ended, but he did know the moment he spread Ten’s legs and gently slid his fingers into the body underneath him and he figured that was as close to infinity as he’d ever get. 

Ten’s voice was rapt and high and never could stay even for long. He snapped his fingers a couple times, Kun licking around his collarbone when he did so. “So, it is that type of night?” Kun’s lips didn’t leave his skin as he spoke, marring the soft flesh with dark bruises to match the tattoos that lined his chest and shoulder. 

Ten’s head tipped back against the mattress, hips straining as hard as his voice, “It is.” 

At the confirmation, Kun felt hands on his back, a second set joining where Ten’s hands had not been. Ten had called his shadow to play, something he did only when the night was an incredible rebellion. Kun felt the shadow’s hands pulling his clothing from his body, while Ten’s hands were knotted in the sheets, and Kun’s were busy making Ten fall apart from the inside out. Kun’s fingers were perfect for this, agile and easy to move, talented and dexterous from years of playing instruments. It helped that Kun thrived on Ten’s downfall into a flushed and wet mess. The raining season was Kun’s favorite time of year, Ten’s body taking such little effort to wind up and it was always slick and soft on its own accord.

Still, he loved to watch Ten unravel completely, loved to see the way he melted and dripped and see just how far he could push the demon before tears collected under green eyes and his bow shaped mouth stuttered for mercy. Kun loved watching the Mogwai like this. 

Kun didn’t startle when a slick hand prodded its way around his own entrance. Rather, he leaned forward, adjusting his body more comfortably on all fours as he continued to work Ten into a whining mess, while the shadow loosened his own body.

Kun didn’t let go like Ten did. His reactions to penetration were softer, more conservative. His moans were airy and deep in his throat, his body barely moving against the hand invading it. He welcomed it, relaxed and calm, allowing the other to do as they pleased with him. Ten was the opposite- needy and demanding and assertive. 

Ten’s moan hitched and he climaxed suddenly, his body drawing tight and his face contorting. Kun was certain that no artist could ever paint an expression as beautiful, but he wished he could frame it and keep it above his bed for his lifetime. Ten’s body sucked him in deep while he cried, sharp black fingernails nearly ripping the bedsheets. There was begging words coming from his mouth, words not forming sentences but sounding like jumbled prayers in a foreign language. Kun didn’t mind them, continuing his fingerwork, brushing the soft velvet that he would die in. Ten’s body eventually relaxed again, allowing him to fully continue. 

It took Kun a long time to continue, the sound of the rain outside not having let up. Kun distantly wondered if Zhang Ju could hear them over the rain, could hear the way he made the Mogwai beg and cry. His hand pressed harder and faster at the thought, Ten’s body arching and craning, voice shearing off into a choked cry at the unexpected roughness. The thought of someone listening to Ten’s destruction was incredibly arousing, the fire bleeding in his heart through his nerves now. 

“Would you still like to continue?” Kun asked breathlessly, sitting back on his knees to grind into the shadow’s hand. 

Ten’s voice was high strung and weak in his response, but his eyes were green and his body still ready, “Please, if you stop now I’m eating your soul.”

Kun gave a laugh and slid away from the shadow, despite every urge in him to remain. He nestled in between the incredibly muscular thighs of the Mogwai, allowing himself to admire his body for a second. It only took a second for him to grow impatient, though, and in an instant he was allowing his body the sweet relief of the torturous body under him. Ten’s back arched, heels digging into the bed, head tossed. He looked a wreck; his cheeks flushed bright with tears shimmering their way around his skin, and lips deep red from teeth both his and foreign. One hand tore itself from the sheets to wrap around his own cock, massaging gently as Kun’s hips were flush against his once more. Kun gave it a second before rocking into him, allowing himself to grind and prod and feel everything that Ten had to offer, the Mogwai sobbing as he did so. 

It took him only a moment to realize this wasn’t enough, the angle not deep enough. He gripped his knees and gently pried his legs up and onto his shoulder, hands gripping his waist tightly. Kun settled onto his knees, drawing the Mogwai to him, who was limp expect for his hand. Kun brought Ten’s body back against him every time his hips moved forward, the demon sliding along the sheets easily as he did so. Kun was struggling to maintain composure, his body knotted and tight, the intense heat and suffocating enclosure of his body enough to make him want to unravel in seconds. Instead, he bent forwards, folding Ten in half, and let his body rut in waves against his. Ten’s tongue lolled from his mouth, a small amount of saliva trailing down his cheek. His eyes were closed and, at this proximity, Kun could see the freckles on his cheeks and the singular one on his eyelid. If he were in a better state, he would have kissed them, would have cherished them. Tonight, Kun was ravenous, though, and unable to give the soft delicate treatment he wished to provide. Next time, he thought, there would always be a next time where he could handle Ten delicately and kindly and express the emotions rattling in his chest. Tonight, though, it was pure possession, tenderness having no place in such a raw and primitive emotion.

It was the moment that Ten’s eyes met his again that the shadow slid into Kun, causing the man to stutter in his movements and his breath trap itself in his ribs. Then, with a shuddering moan, every nerve in Kun’s body came to life and he was a rocking mess. The nicest part about the shadow was the fact that it had no set form, everything about it manipulated and controlled to perfection. Kun was able to move freely against it, his body unhindered yet still filled completely to the point of heavy and deep moans. 

Ten was speaking in a foreing language again, one Kun didn’t understand nor know the origins of, though it was arousing all the same. Ten stuttered a few more sentences before his body locked up and he came again, his body begging for Kun’s to do the same. 

Kun never could resist Ten’s needs.

In an instant, he rocked into his body thrice more and allowed himself the euphoria of engorging Ten. His vision blanked and his teeth dug into the soft flesh of Ten’s thigh as his body gripped down on the shadow that grinded in him. It took him a long moment to calm down, his body twitching and aching against the Mogwai, allowing himself to appreciate the lingering feelings of being full of the shadow before it dissipate and left him empty again. 

It took even longer for him to withdraw from Ten, the Mogwai groaning as he unfolded. Kun settled beside him, tucking an arm under the demon, pulling him to his chest. It was silent as the rain sang them into a bubble of peace, before Ten spoke, “I am not finished yet.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Kun said with a grin. 

“Next time I’ll fold you, see how you like being compressed into parchment.” Ten’s tone was teasing and light, though Kun shivered at the idea of being enveloped under the Mogwai. 

“I would not mind it in the slightest.”

When the buds turned to leaves and Ten’s body stopped clawing for theft, they made their plans. Ten had acquired from an undisclosed source a small vial of liquid sweet as fruit and clear as water that Kun was instructed to mix into the tea served at the meal prior to Zhang Ju’s departure for her annual familial visit. The poison worked slowly and effectively, painlessly, and Ten had the matching vial of equally sweet antidote that Kun was to drink after the meal. If all went according to Ten’s plan, she would die long before arriving at her destination, an unprecedented and unpredictable event. Everything always went according to Ten’s plan. 

He had no room for error, his profit at risk, and Ten always collected his debts. 

When the day arrived and Zhang Ju departed, Kun was left with the sickly sweet taste of corpse in his mouth.

Ten had given him the antidote.

In two days time, a letter of folded parchment and smudged ink came, announcing that Zhang Ju had arrived, though her soul had remained somewhere along the journey. 

“Now, Kun,” Ten spoke over his shoulder, breath fanning across Kun’s cheek, reading the letter, “How good are you at acting?” 

“As good as you make me.” 

Kun didn’t live with many regrets. He had done many questionable things this past decade since confronting Ten for the first time. He had lost track of his morality, lost track of his sense of right and wrong, the lines blurring from black and white to a soft grey. Through all the things he had done, including the recent assisted unintentional assisted sucide of his wife, he had very few regrets. 

The biggest one came from one quiet summer day, Kun lounging naked against an equally naked Ten, the two entwined under gold silk sheets that glowed under the sun that poured in through the open windows, the garden’s summer flowers pouring in the sweet scent of berries and water and freshly turned soil. They had been quiet since their engagement, listening to the sounds of summer and ignoring the responsibilities Kun had to attend to that day. With Ten around, everything would be done and on time. 

His fingers traced familiar flesh idly, rotating around tattoos he had seen thousands of times. “Ten?” 

“Yes?” Though his voice was low, Kun’s ear to his chest picked up every intonation and breath he took. 

“Where do your tattoos come from?” Kun had wondered for so long, though he had such limited knowledge on the Mogwai’s tattoos and their significance. 

“Some are Mogwai rights of passages, curses to keep us safe and enhance our powers.” Ten’s fingers traced an intricate leaf design that lived beneath his left pec, curling into the crease of his chest, “This one I got the day I was reborn. I was gifted it by my predecessor. It awakens our spirits.” 

Kun’s fingers trailed gently over the faded blue-black lines, traced the way it curved over the muscles it was attached to. Kun wasn’t sure if he was delusional or not, but he swore he could feel the pulsing of power, the draw to the curving lines. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. It is my pride.” Ten’s fingertips brushed against Kun’s on the lines, sharing the space unconsciously as they had everything else. “Some are ones I received in my journey’s, like the lotus on my spine. A monk tattooed that when I visited his village as a thank you for rescuing a daughter from the town from drowning. I took my payment in the form of the tattoo as I hadn’t actually made a contract with anyone there. It was not long after I had been reborn and I couldn’t let a delicate soul go to waste so easily, I was unable to pass the opportunity to relive a moment of humanity. I asked him to give me a spiritual rebirth. The lotus, he said, showed I was born again.” 

Kun nodded against the crook he had settled in on Ten’s neck. “I have always noticed it was a different style than the others.” 

Ten mirrored his movement, nodding as his fingers stroked Kun’s back slowly. “Then, there are the tattoos I received when I collected a soul that was too precious to me to swallow. Instead, I saved them a spot on my flesh, a way to keep them with me for eternity. You will be one someday.” 

“I thought you said I was the only soul to remain on your body?” Kun’s voice was tight as he sat up, leaning on one arm to stare at the Mogwai. 

Ten, too, sat up, sliding against the headboard as he did so. “No,” He corrected, “I told you once that I had never promised this spot to another and I have not. There is only one other soul stuck on my flesh, though.” 

Kun’s cheeks were warm, the comfort soured by the feeling of green tendrils sliding up his body. Jealousy was a curse, one that would swallow a human whole, and Kun was always prone to envelopment. “Which?” 

Ten’s hand moved to his right side, brushing the long stemmed rose that trailed the entirety of his ribcage. “This one.”

“Who?” Kun spat, his body aching to move to the other side and rip the tattoo from his flesh, though he knew it was a spiritual bind and there was no way to remove it now. 

“His name is Lee Taeyong. He was from the peninsula region. I met him a century ago. He was...A unique case, to say the least. Fragile and small, but powerful and determined. He broke easily, though he kept everyone around him together. He helped me through a time where I hadn’t known I needed help. I hadn’t realized the darkness of my existence had swallowed my heart. I lost most of my humanity. He helped me regain it. When he summoned me, I thought it was another rich scheme, another power hungry man waiting to bask in his fortune. He was different, though. He summoned me to save his village, to make it thrive and prosper as it was dying from an unknown cause. They suspected the old gods had cursed them. He offered his soul in exchange for a thriving village. I accepted. It took me three decades to rebuild the village and in that time I had grown so close to him, so attached...I couldn’t bear his absence. He was my first connection to humanity for so long, a reminder of what it was like to live as a human and not a curse. I told him I would keep him close for eternity and so I have. He is my connection to humanity. If I feel as though I am slipping from who I was, he is there to remind me. It is the only other soul I have bound to myself, Kun.”

Kun’s fingers were digging into the sheets, pulling them, nearly ripping the delicate fabric. “You have loved another.” 

“It is complicated, Kun,” Ten sighed, “I cannot say it was love and I cannot say it was requited. If I am being fair, I am not sure he ever loved _me_ , simply the things I did for him. Additionally, I never loved _him_. It was complicated, never something I saw a future with, never someone I felt I was destined with. He is simply my humanity. I can explain it no better than that.” 

“Why a rose?” Kun spat, “The flower of lovers. If you did not love him, why did you pick the flower of lovers?” 

Ten’s laugh was wispy and far too relaxed for as strung tight as Kun felt. “Kun, my dear, jealousy is a fine shade of green on you. Only red roses mean lovers. There are many roses, with many meanings. Besides, I did not choose the rose,” His fingers brushed his side subconsciously and Kun felt the urge to snatch his hand away, “He did. It was his favorite flower. It lined the village and subsequently his grave.” 

Kun’s jaw was locked tight, his mind working over the information. He no longer loved every tattoo that lined Ten’s body. 

That day, after Kun slid from the bed as an angry snake, every rose bush in the garden had been beheaded, the flowers drowning in the pond with the koi nibbling. Every maid was instructed to remove the bushes while he attended his business. Ten watched in rapture, eating the dark clouds emanating from Kun’s soul. Green had never looked better.

If convincing Kun to indirectly murder his wife had been surprisingly easy, then the process of assasinating a potential threat to his nobility was effortless. A rival, Ten had spotted, was slowly crawling through the ranks in a genuine manner. He was a good man, Ten knew, someone who would make a wonderful politician and even better nobleman. His soul smelled of roses and honey, Ten had said, pure and kind. 

That was why he had to die. 

Killing him was evening tea to Ten, his soul soft and warm. Kun had taken a more direct route this time, the new ivory and jade dagger temporarily stained glistening wet red. Ten called it the baptism for the blade. Kun wasn’t sure what he himself thought of the easiness of the kill, only that he wondered how to clean the mess from his gown. 

Kun had committed the murder in the woods by the man’s house, had lured him out to ask for help with the pandering of carriage troubles. The man was good and always willing to help. Kun thought that was his first mistake, the reason he would never make it in the line of nobility and politics. He had been bred for it, certainly, though his manners and soft hands would get him nowhere against the ink stains of darkness that bled through the ranks. Goodness was never rewarded in the realm of riches. 

Kun existed solely to prove that. 

“Killing is easy, Kun,” Ten said, walking up behind his lover. He slung his arm around broad shoulders and dug his chin into the muscles there, “It’s living with the knowledge that you stole a breath that’s difficult.”

Kun shrugged, “In a few years, it will not matter how many breaths I stole. I will be living on your heart and there will be no repercussions for me to face. No Heaven or Hell await my death. I will be a piece of artwork, never to be held accountable for the wrongs I’ve committed. That will be your final protection of me, Ten. You will keep me from punishment. I fear nothing within this moment, knowing you are always behind me.”

Ten sucked in a breath before kissing his shoulder. “Confidence tastes addicting on you, Kun. You will be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Kun glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting stark green ones, “I pray already am.”

_Bloodied carnations_

By the time three seasons cycles passed, Kun had killed more men, and some women, than he had ever expected, Ten lingering behind to always clean the mess. No one was ever able to contend with his position, once they reached any level of notoriety, they died mysteriously. They had labeled Kun as the Dragon’s Claw, as he was wrapped around the treasure all wanted but none could have for fear of snapping fangs. Kun was unable to laugh at the title, unable to explain that he was not wrapped around the treasure, that _he_ was the treasure, Ten the dragon. No one would know that story, though. Kun would die with the title and Ten would live with the story until the world ceased rotation.

Kun was unsure when he had become so comfortable with killing. He supposed he was never truly _uncomfortable_ with it, though he could not pin when it had become more of a chore than anything. There had been a time in his life, he was certain, that his fingers had never been stained with the dripping gold of someone else’s soul. 

Nowadays he was gilded. 

He couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped hesitating, when he no longer felt knots in his shoulders or tenseness in his face at the prospect of taking someone’s last breath. He couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t _remember_ , but now it was as easy to him as archery.

It was a necessity in his field, he thought, the ability to take life without remorse. If he were too squeamish, too _shy_ , to do so, how could he ever hope to lead an army? If his hands were not accustomed to the feeling of blood that never would wash or fade, how would he ever hope to be respected? 

Kun couldn’t pinpoint when he had grown apathetic to death, but he wondered how dark had his heart truly become? 

The answer was blaringly obvious as he stood over the gasping woman, who clung to the hole in her chest as if her small hands would keep her soul tethered. She eyed the long jewel crusted anelace Kun carried, one that would be disposed of into the depths of the lake outside of her husbands mansion, residing there until the earth crumbled. Kun’s grip was slightly slippery, the fresh blood coating his skin from both her husband and herself, though his fingers were steady and prepared for such a feeling. He had grown familiar with the warmth that would drip between his joints, the feeling no longer strange or startling. Kun had become far too comfortable with his actions of the day, though he was unsure of how to change the path he had started. 

He knew once he started down this road, there would be no returning.

“Madame Yu,” Kun spoke softly, stepping towards her with an indifference akin to business partners. The woman slid back, her gold and cream gown staining red as her heart raced and blood pooled from her gaping wound. She choked again, spitting up a mouth full of crimson. Kun was certain she was a beautiful woman, certain that at one point she had stopped men in their tracks, certain that she deserved to be treated as royalty. Kun wasn’t impressed, though, nor did it soften his poison laced tongue, drunk off of a sweet wine known only to his tongue, “I do hope you forgive me, but you will not be seeing your husband again.” When he closed the gap between them, reaching for her still impeccably styled hair, “And I do apologize that your maiden will take the blame for this. It is simply business that I have to attend to.” Her begging began but it fell on muted ears as Kun steadied his grasp once again, “I am afraid you will not see him before your own death, either. His last words were giving us your location in hopes to spare him, so if it is any consolation, I feel I have saved you from the life with him.”

Her voice stopped a moment before Kun stole it, the acceptance relaxing her body before the blade touched her skin again. Kun laid her against the tiles gently, kinder to her in death than in life. “You did not have to tell her that. You could have said something sweet or soothing, or simply nothing at all.” The voice behind him wasn’t startling and Kun stood, wiping the blade against the sleeves of his own stained robe. 

Kun finally turned to look at Ten who stood in his black suit, red hair short and glowing under the autumn midday light leaking through the shades. He looked beautiful, features timeless and perfected. Kun never missed a chance to admire him. “I could not bear the idea of her dying with a lie. Humans deserve better.” Ten gave a slight chuckle in the moment of silence between the two. “You laugh? Why?” 

“You refer to her as human as though you are not yourself.” Ten gestured to the body behind him, soulless and pointless, “You one day will look as that, too. Forget not your being.” 

“I wonder,” Kun spoke softly, eyeing the anelace again, tracing the bloodied emeralds set into the filigree metal with shaking fingers. Ten’s gaze was steady on him, watching his movements with an expression Kun hadn’t seen prior to that day. When Kun’s eyes met his again, the air felt tenser than normal, thick like Kun’s favored jams, “Just how much humanity is left inside this soul of mine?” 

Kun had always been told that great epics always ended as greatly as they began. His beginning with Ten was quiet, shadows and smoke. It was the middle that burst into flames and scorched the world around them, branding them with their souls. The end, Kun assumed, would be as quiet as the beginning, their climax having come and gone. Kun had reached the rank his family had begged for. The Qian line was no longer a synonym for a curse. Kun had no heir, but his brother did and that would be enough. Kun had rebuilt the Qian name with his hands laced through Ten’s hair. 

When the sun arose that morning, drenching two bodies in watery winter sunlight, Kun knew it was the day they, more specifically Ten, had waited for for three decades. Ten had been awake for longer than Kun and the sun, though he had not stirred the sleeping human. Instead, he traced the muscles of his chest and neck quietly, gently, attempting not to ruin the peace of their last morning. 

“Ten,” Kun finally spoke, voice throaty and raspy, sleep clinging to him like a curse.

“Yes?” Was his equally raspy response. Ten’s eyes were honey colored this morning, the burning softness leaving trails of fire on Kun’s body as the sunrise glowed peach and lilac. 

“Today is it, is it not?”

“It is.” Ten nodded, eyes sliding from his face to his chest. Ten’s fingers played in the dips and curves of his body easily, the body as familiar as his own. 

“How shall it work?” Kun was unsure if he wanted an answer, though he supposed he needed to know the process they would undergo that day. 

“Let’s wait for a while longer.” Ten moved closer, skin to skin, embers flaring between them. 

Kun didn’t mind. Instead they sat in silence, sharing their warmth and occasional slow kisses as the world awoke around them. In the moment, Kun did not feel like a man who used wicked tricks to slink his way to the top; he did not feel like a man who went against every law of nature to bed and promise his heart to a demon; he did not feel like someone who was selling their soul for a taste of fortune. Instead, he felt like a man in love. He felt more alive in the hours he spent pressed against the Mogwai than he ever had anywhere else. The shadow no longer lived in the corner, but rather his bed and his heart, and he was prepared to spend a millennia attached to the body of said Mogwai. 

“Ten,” He spoke again when the sun was far over his home, the rays no longer reaching directly into the room, “I think it is time.” 

Ten nodded, peeling his body from the man’s and sitting up. “I think so, too.”

Kun sat up as well, scooting against the headboard, watching as Ten twisted his fingers in the air momentarily. Slowly a set of small objects appeared in his hand- a large needle and an ink pot. Kun watched in rapture as Ten dipped the needle in the ink and stared at Kun, “This may hurt.” 

Kun didn’t mind. 

Ten slithered himself into Kun’s lap, straddling him as he began to work slowly on the man’s pec muscle. With every poke, Kun felt the sting in his muscle, felt lightheaded from discomfort, though he allowed Ten to do as he did. It took until the sun was on the other end of his home, the rays dipping in and bleeding orange and red across the marble tile floor, dying the Mogwai in vibrant colors he could almost taste. When Ten finished, Kun looked down to the carnation bleeding on his chest, his skin swollen, though the flower was elegant and perfect. Ten never made errors, Kun knew, never failed to complete his objective with uttermost perfection. Ten never made mistakes. 

Ten was staring at the carnation with such an intensity that Kun felt like his soul was on show and perhaps it was. Maybe Ten was staring into his soul in that moment, waiting to drag it from his body and keep it for eternity. Kun was unsure, though his cheeks were red and eyes wet. 

Ten spoke after another long moment. “Something is wrong.” 

The words caught Kun off guard, unexpected and startling. “What do you mean?” Ten never failed, Ten never made mistakes. 

“I said what I mean,” Ten reiterated, “Something is wrong. I cannot harvest your soul.” The silence that swallowed them made Kun’s skin itch. It took Ten several deep breaths, his eyes having not yet left the fresh tattoo on Kun’s skin, before he spoke again. “Kun, I think I have failed you.”

Kun swallowed heavily, “You never fail.” 

Ten’s eyes dragged up to Kun’s face slowly, his expression unreadable and intense. Kun had never seen Ten look as he did now, never seen him look as solemn and disappointed as he did. There were so many emotions flittering in his stark expression that Kun couldn’t pick a single _one_. It was overwhelming and Kun’s heart stuttered as Ten met his eyes. “This time, I fear I did.” 

“Ten, explain.” Kun’s voice was terse and quick, the frustration rising in his chest. 

“There is no way for me to collect on my debt, Kun. Your soul is no longer obtainable to me.” Ten’s voice was emotionless, flat, his expression and tone mirrored. Kun’s hands gripped his hips and Ten reacted with nothing except a breath.

“Why not?” Kun’s voice wavered in a way he hadn’t expected and he wished to be able to correct it, though the emotions flowing through him were unknown and uncontrollable, the tide in his body shifting and a storm raging that had no beginning or end. Kun was at the mercy of his body.

“It seems as though my wicked tricks have led to a rather unexpected result.” Ten’s voice was thoughtful, his eyes landing back on the tattoo. Kun wanted to speak, though something in him kept him quiet, his mouth sewn shut temporarily. “Your soul is damaged, Kun. It no longer holds the same taste of humanity it should. I am unable to remove it without destroying it. I took you too far and kept you there too long. I should have never asked you to commit the crimes you did. I separated you from your humanity and tainted your soul. You’re right, Kun, I never fail, though it seems this time I was too enthralled in my emotions, too wrapped up in _you_ to think things through thoroughly. I cannot complete my contract.” 

Kun’s tongue felt heavy and dry and tasted like the pond water. “What does this mean?”

“It means you will live your life as you are and I will be stuck to you until you die naturally, where I can then take the last bits of your soul and hold onto them. It is the only way to break the contract without destroying you in the process. I will not lose even a shred of you. So, we wait. I will spend the rest of your life with you as though there had never been an expiration date to begin with. We will continue on as we are, though I will no longer have you committing sins. I will take that burden. We will wash you of the evils I had you do, and hopefully restore some of the integrity of your soul. Then, I will hold you for infinity on my heart as planned. For now, I will just hold you in my arms.” 

Mayhap, in another life, Kun was an honest man. Mayhap he had friends and made a life for himself and his wife through hard-work and calloused hands. Mayhap he tasted love and happiness and freedom and fulfillment. That was another life, though, and in the life he lived now and forever, he was one death short of a curse. Kun’s soul had been eaten away by the evils he had committed, though his heart still stuttered in love every time he saw Ten moving around his villa. 

Maybe it was less of love and more of addiction, but the intensity was there nonetheless and tasted just as bittersweet.

Kun always knew the day would come where one unfortunate soul would know of his evils and come for penance or vengeance, whichever would come first. Kun would allow a man neither, though he would never stop one from trying. He had faced down many angry families before, though none had come as prepared as the man before him. 

He was young, younger than when Kun had first spoke to Ten. A child, really, if Kun thought about it. He stood with a familiar anelace, one engraved with ivy and emeralds. One that had been lost at the bottom of a lake a month ago. One Ten had supposedly disposed of. 

Kun’s eyes glanced to the corner of the room where Ten stood, cloaked in the familiar shadows, his eyes glowing silver tonight as the thunder outside filled the silence of the entry hall, his gaze avoiding Kun’s and locked on the boys back. 

Kun was reminded in that moment that Ten never made mistakes. Ten always had a plan. And specifically, that Ten always collected his debts. 

This boy did not find this dagger by accident, that much was known. 

“My boy, what do you plan to do with that?” Kun finally asked, his voice only barely heard over the rain threatening to cave the ceiling. 

“I will make you pay with this.” He spoke, his voice wavering and watery, tight against the tears he was holding. 

“You could not possibly hurt me with such a small weapon. Have you not heard that I am practically immortal?”

The boy laughed, shrill and sharp, biting at Kun’s nerves, “I could never kill you, that much is understood. I would be stupid to try.” The boy pulled out an aged and curled scroll, “No, I will make you pay in other ways.” The boy sliced the golden ribbon sealing the parchment, the scroll unfurling as Kun watched, intrigued. “Qian Kun, I am cursing you to immortality. In exchange for my soul, you will live for forever, holding onto the sins you have collected through your life. In exchange for my future lives, you will live until the earth has frozen and time has stopped.” 

Ten slid from the corner, the shadows following him, circling the boy, his voice a purr, “The deal has been made and the offer has been accepted. Give it to me, my dear.” 

The boy looked at Ten, eyes wide and fear filled, though he had known the price prior to arrival. He looked at the dagger and back to Kun, his knuckles whitening, “You used this to kill my parents and now I will use it to damn you. I can only pray you rot in isolation for infinity, watching the world die around you.” With no additional coaxing, he pressed the blade through his sternum, death following quickly. Ten radiated gold sparks as he swallowed the soul that flittered from the boys body. 

In a mere moment, all that was left was the sound of rain, the corpse of the boy, and Kun’s looming immortality. 

Ten had scrubbed Kun from head to toe, soaked him in rose water, massaged him with oils, and manicured him to perfection. “You will be like this for many, many millennia. I want this body neat.” He had explained during the process. From what Kun understood, the state in which he was reborn in was the state he would remain in. It was why Ten was always so pretty, no matter what situation they had fallen into. Ten wanted Kun to be just as pretty, just as neat. 

So, Kun let him have his fun pampering him. 

It took hours before Kun was laying on his own bed, face down. Ten was straddling his thighs, needle stabbing into the flesh of his lower back. Kun stayed still and silent throughout the entire process. When Ten finished, he spoke in a language he didn’t know, but was familiar with through all the times Ten had spoken it. Kun’s body twitched and chilled, though he did not move until Ten rolled him over. 

“Watch.” Was the only thing Ten said as he unbuttoned and slid off his shirt. Kun stared in complete captivated rapture as black ink swirled against Ten’s chest, etching itself in spots and swirls until a carnation had fully formed, redness suddenly peeling itself across the soft honey skin and decorating the leaves. “You are bound to me now.” 

Kun’s fingers trailed the flesh that was undamaged, the tattoo leaving no injury behind in its wake- simply art on skin. “You are mine? For forever?” 

“Until the earth departs the sun.” Ten’s smile was genuine, bright and vivid and Kun’s heart felt as though it had stopped. “Go and see what I did on your back.” 

Kun let Ten slide off of him, heading for the mirror. On his back was a lotus, nine leaves fanning across his lower back, with small stars dotted between the petals. “It is a lotus in bloom, for your spiritual rebirth. It is a sort of tradition amongst Mogwai.” 

Kun tore his eyes from his reflection to meet Ten’s gaze again. “It is beautiful.” 

Ten smiled, “It is,” His hand rested above Kun’s heart, fingers dancing across the black linework carnation that was buried in Kun’s flesh, “You are a Mogwai now. Welcome to eternity.”

Kun lifted his fingers to his mouth and kissed each knuckle gently, “With you, I will live until the heavens crumble.”

**Author's Note:**

> Update: I've decided to continue this verse into a seires and the next will be a Xiaojun/Hendery fic titled "The Taste of Rain" :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I've really thought about turning this into a series, because I really loved writing it and potentially would like to do a series with fics focused around XJ/HD, YY/Lucas, and potentially even a past TaeTen! 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! :)<3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightSuhn)
> 
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


End file.
